


It's A Sign

by StarsAreMassive



Series: Join Our Houses [6]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya tries to get engaged, F/M, Gendry is an idiot, Idiots in Love, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:06:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22270756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsAreMassive/pseuds/StarsAreMassive
Summary: In which Arya decides to get engaged, Gendry doesn't have a clue about anything, and together the embark on a ritual bastardisation of northern superstitions.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: Join Our Houses [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1292831
Comments: 4
Kudos: 114





	It's A Sign

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my GoT AU one shots. They don't all make sense together, but I sure had fun writing them.

Arya had never done what was expected of her. She never learned to stitch straight. She preferred ale to wine, belched when she ate, and wore breeches instead of skirts. So why would anyone expect her to wait for a man to ask to marry her?

Arya had made it clear she had no plans to leave her ancestral home anytime soon. Gendry had wasted no time informing Jon of his plans to stay in the Stark forges indefinitely. If Arya was in the north, then so was he, and he’d settled nicely into life at Winterfell. The cold didn’t bother him so much when he was working, and he had plenty of furs at night. Yes, Gendry had well and truly made Winterfell his home. Even if the northern way of life still went over his head.

Which one evening, gave Arya a wonderful, brilliant idea for her unwitting husband to be. 

* * *

It was a rare occasion and Gendry had agreed to go riding with her. He hated the saddle and normally, not even she could move him to mount a horse unless, rather literally, their lives were on the line.

Nymeria was with them, leaping ahead of the horses and bounding in and out of bushes and weaving between the trees. Gendry had a gentle smile on his face watching her. Arya would never admit it aloud to either of them, but she always felt a thrill when she saw for herself, how much they had bonded.

“Look at you,” he teased from the saddle. “Looking at me all soft like that.”

Arya scoffed and threw a pinecone at him. “I think your eyes are failing you.”

“No, no.” He was smug and cocked his head and lifted his chin. “I know what I saw. Careful m’lady, or you might give a humble blacksmith like me ideas.”

“Ideas,” she grinned wickedly. “Like the ones you had last night when you –“

 _“Arya!”_ Gendry hissed and whipped his head around, as if Jon and his guard were to leap at them from the very trees, and she couldn’t help but cackle. Even when they were all alone, she could make him blush like a maid.

Suddenly, Nymeria leapt off with a growl, her feet pounding the dirt and leaves as she sprinted away from them.

Arya hummed. “Perhaps we won’t have to hunt down our dinner, after all.”

“We won’t be hunting it anyway,” he grumbled. “Apparently I lumber around like a bear and scare off all the game.”

“In fairness, I said like a dying bear.”

Gendry pushed her and she had to clench down with her thighs to stay seated.

Whatever retaliation Gendry had on the tip on his tongue, he had to swallow back as Nymeria came running back to them. Arya squinted, and quickly had to hide her delight as she saw what her faithful wolf had brought them.

“Arry,” Gendry was squinting at Nymeria. “What’s that? Is – is that a stag’s _head?”_

“Don’t be so alarmed,” she laughed. “It’s only the antlers.”

“Forgive me,” he said, dryly. “A stag’s crown then.”

She snorted at him, and put on her best sincere face. “Well, it is a sign after all.”

And perhaps Gendry knew her better than she gave him credit for sometimes, because he sounded all kinds of suspicious. “What kind of sign? You drag me all the way out here to kill me?”

She rolled her eyes. “No stupid. I’d do that in the forge. Much easier to make it look like an accident.”

“It’s too obvious though. I was giving you more credit than that. My apologies, m’lady.”

“Obvious? You won’t be thinking it’s obvious when your head’s crushed under your own anvil!”

“Well, no, I won’t be thinking anything because I’ll be dead.”

“You – just – be quiet Gendry!” And the blacksmith had the audacity to smirk at her. “I’m trying to explain some of our folklore to you, so pay attention.”

His eyes were lit with amusement, but he obediently held his tongue.

“Direwolves are very intelligent – you know this of course. But they’re also, according to our stories, quite mystical.”

“Wolves that help the Starks to warg? I would never had guessed.”

“Gendry!”

He held hands up in surrender.

“They don’t just protect the humans they bond with. Legend says, they also help to lead you down important paths in your life. Perhaps you’re travelling and your direwolf wants you to take a different road – suddenly you find yourself in a new town full of strangers and end up wealthy and powerful with a house full of gold and riches. If you are hunting, and your direwolf stays your hand – you go home earlier than expected and arrive in time to save your family from a band of raiders.”

To his credit, Gendry was actually listening, and nodded along with her tale.

“Sometimes they find it harder to tell their humans important things. They can only give us signs, and hope we interpret them correctly.”

Gendry cocked his head and studied Nymeria. “So bringing you a stag’s antlers?”

“She’s trying to tell me that the stag means something very important to me, Gendry. Very important.”

She studied him as he turned in his saddle to face her. His eyes were deep blue in the darkening light and she loved the strong cut of his jaw. He started at her, dark lashed blinking and he smiled his gentle smile again. “Arya,” he breathed lightly.

“Yes, Gendry?”

“I think you drew the short stick when you got stuck with Nymeria.”

Arya blinked. “I – you, _what?”_

Then he was chortling in the saddle and clutching his stomach. “A stag is important to you? Honestly – even Blind Bertha the Butcher’s wife has managed to grasp that by now.” He kept chuckling and leaned down and lifted a big stick (a small log, really) from the ground, before hurling it for Nymeria to chase. “I thought she was supposed to be clever?”

Arya forced a laugh, but silently fumed as they turned back to Winterfell. She would have to rethink her plan of attack.

* * *

She wasn’t proud of it, but things had gotten rather ridiculous over the past few weeks. She’d seen plenty of lords and ladies get engaged over the years, and she never heard any of them complaining about their betrothed simply _not_ understanding someone was trying to marry them. Figures Gendry would be the one person in the history of Westeros who wouldn’t recognise a proposal if it slapped him in the face.

She’d been sitting on an unused workbench in the forge, eating some slices of apple and cheese and watching Gendry work. She’d been gleefully distracting him from his work, and he’d taken a few seconds too long to cool the steel and, when he’d brought his hammer down to strike it, it smashed all over the anvil.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Arya gasped and dropped her slices of apple and cheese as she touched her hands to her chin.

Gendry cursed and spat and threw his hammer into some unseen corner. “Seven hells! _Shit!_ ”

“Gendry,” she huffed. “What have you done?”

He huffed and looked at her, his best scowl firmly in place. “What are you talking like that for? There’s no war knocking at our gates. No one’s going to die because I’m an _idiot_ and let a sword shatter.”

Briefly, she let herself soften at his self-rebuke. But she ploughed on. “Do you really not know what this means? The old gods are angry with you.”

“For fu-“ he bit his tongue, punched his nose between his fingers and blew out an angry breath. “What? What could the gods possibly be pissy about now?”

“Think about it, Gendry. In the north, we’re warriors – fighters. You’re one of us now, and you’re a master blacksmith. When was the last time you shattered a sword? That you’ve done so now, means you’ve done something to displease them. Can’t you think what they might want with you? What they want you to do with yourself now you’re not fighting or running? Maybe it’s right in front of you, and you haven’t even noticed.”

In hindsight, trying to make her point whilst also making him angry, was very poor planning on her part. Gendry bent down and picked up all the shards, scowling and huffing and barely sparing her a glance.

“Yeah, well. The gods can kiss my arse.”

* * *

Jon had all but ordered Gendry to join them on the hunt. More to get him out the forge than anything, but Arya was glad he joined them all the same. Especially now.

Before them – just her and Gendry – a decent sized boar stood grazing. She passed him the spear she’d been holding, murmured encouragements as he adjusted his aim, drew back his great arm and let the spear fly.

A howl echoed in the distance, and Arya cursed Nymeria as the boar bolted and the spear missed it by a hair’s breadth.

Gendry groaned into his hands and Arya patted him.

“Are you sure you’re Robert’s bastard? How in all the seven kingdoms could one of _Robert’s_ sons miss skewering a boar? He’ll be cursing you from beyond the grave. You failed to avenge him.”

“Don’t you dare mention this to anyone.”

“Maybe he made you miss. Maybe he’s angry with you.”

Gendry started at her in disbelief. “Angry? With me? What in all hells could that fat, drunken sot, possibly be angry with me for?”

“Well,” Arya kicked her toes lightly and studied the tree bark. “He always told my father how his greatest wish was for our houses to joi-“

Jon, Jamie and Bronn broke through the trees in a gallop, spears clutched in one hands whilst the other held the reins.

“Have you found anything, yet?” Jon called.

Gendry rolled his eyes. “A boar – that way,” he pointed.

Jamie and Bronn sped off without a moment to lose and Gendry, nudging Arya gently, chased off after them. Jon trotted up to Arya with a sweet smile on his face.

So she punched him.

“ _Ow!”_ He clutched his jaw, but Arya continued to rain open-handed strikes to the back of his head, his shoulders and back – anywhere she could reach. “Ary- ARYA! Stop it – get off me!”

“I take back what I said to Clegane,” she spat, and thumped him one last time for good measure. “ _You_ are the biggest shit in the Seven Kingdoms.”

* * *

Arya had gone straight from the ridiculous to the blatant.

Night had fallen, and she knew Gendry would be damping down the fires and making ready to retire for the night. She clutched her parcel tightly – wouldn’t do to drop it now – and scurried across the courtyard and slipping through the door of the forge.

Gendry had his back to her, but she fancied she could see him smiling all the same.

“Arry,” his warm, tired voice, said.

“Are you ready?”

Gendry turned to her, wiping his face with an already dirtied cloth and made towards her. “I’ve finished here for the night if that’s what you’re asking. Ready for what?”

“Come with me.” And she span on her heel without giving him a chance to agree of object. But she was confidant. And sure enough, she could hear his shuffling feet as he followed her out and called to one of the apprentices straggling around to close up for him.

He was silent as he followed her out the gates and into the weirwood, content for now in just her presence. As was she. She always was. Which was why she – no _they_ were doing this. Tonight.

Her feet could pick this path with her eyes closed. Past the smallest hot spring, turn right at the cluster of winter roses, and over the small hill knotted with tree roots and there it stood – the Heart Tree.

She stopped before it, Gendry behind her and his breath hot and comforting on her neck.

“Why have you brought me here?”

Arya closed her eyes and let herself remember her father here, sharpening his sword, or simply basing in the peace offered by the woods. She remembered her siblings leaping into the hot springs, swimming in the lake, playing battles with their sticks.

She opened her eyes and Gendry’s strong, steady presence was still behind her. She smiled and knelt before the tree.

“It’s a sign.”

Gendry looked at her all curious, as she thrust the package at him and nodded for him to open it.

He untied the leather package and out spilled a soft, heavy, and gorgeously embroidered cloak. The fur was black and glossy. The shoulders were embroidered with intertwined antlers in gold thread, and it clasped at the front with two great stags head, locked in battle when the clasp was fastened.

Shireen had done a truly wonderful job. It was a fitting cloak for a reluctant Baratheon, conflicted about a family he’d never known, but a Baratheon all the same.

Gendry fumbled with it and thudded to his knees beside her. His voice was small and shaking. “Arry?”

She smiled at him, full of teeth and so wide her cheeks were hurting. Carefully, she turned her back to him and lifted her hair.

Trembling fingers draped her slight form in the thick cloak, and all she felt was warmth.


End file.
